Bran's Nightmare
by IntricateDarkness
Summary: Bran suffers from dreadful nightmares in his sleep, but now, he realises it has only just begun...


Bran awoke with the direwolf's misty breath across his face. Summer jumped to his side, a deep echoing growl escaped his throat. Something's wrong, thought Bran. Bran looked around uneasily, not recognising where he was, the room was furnished in the finest mahogany, deep ebony tones highlighted within. The bed was incredibly comfortable, he could not deny, yet he yearned for home. A flush of panic arose from within when he saw the Lannister lion imprinted on almost everything he could see. The furs he wore caused him to break out in a sweat, but he was unable to kick off the silky sheets that covered his limp body. Summer's ears pricked up at the sound of a bolt turning in the door. So they locked me in, he thought, how pointless.

The door opened and a woman as beautiful as the day itself walked in. Cersie's hair glimmered in the stranded rays of sun; her eyes were beautiful green emeralds. Her handmaiden held a tray with two cups to match. Bran watched her move towards him intently, holding Summer closer.

"I thought you were lying when you said the beat had grown." She didn't once look away from Bran, but spoke to her gold-cloaks.

"No, my Queen." One of them answered. "We couldn't find a way to separate them without harming the boy, at your command."

"Ah." The look on her face didn't change, menacingly beautiful as always, but her tone gave away the disappointment in the situation. She took a cup from the tray and poured what smelt like strong summer wine into it. She spoke as she sipped.

"I remember when my Joffery was your age. A little lion cub embracing the world with every step." Her expression changed to distaste. "Pity, isn't it?"

His face hardened. He may only have lived to see nine namedays so far, but he was old enough to comprehend the harsh vibes radiating from her behind her beautiful mask.

"As your Queen I am supposed to play my role and help those who are suffering, but I would rather send you back to Winterfell… though, I'm not sure it belongs to the Starks anymore." Bran's face twisted into confusion. "Theon Greyjoy decided he prefers his new home."

This was all small talk to Bran. He didn't want to listen to it, he wanted to go home, to his mother, his father… but all he could do was weep and weep until the Queen got sick of him.

"Don't cry, child." Cersie sighed. "Here's some milk of the poppy to help you to sleep, you need it after what happened." He tried to rack his brain and figure out what happened, but he could not recall anything in detail. He did remember a giant fire consuming what he didn't want to believe to be the town of Winterfell. He tried hard to fight back the new wave of tears.

He wished he had Jojen and Meera with him, Hodor too, but he realised he had no knowledge whatsoever of their whereabouts. The Queen handed him a milky white liquid.

"Drink." She said.

His shaky hands reached for the cup and just as he leaned forwards to take a sip, Summer tackled his hand, sending the cup and its contents flying across the room. The Queen retreated behind her gold-cloaks and commanded for them both to be locked up.

"Summer, to me!" Bran called. The wolf snarled at the closing door then subdued to his will. Bran's heart continued to beat at a quickened pace minutes after they had been left alone. What happened to him? Why did he react like that? Summer was never excessively violent towards people, he never hurt anyone. Except for the man who tried to kill him in his tower at Winterfell…

Summer curiously went to investigate the milk that lay across the floor but growled viciously at the scent of it. Then it dawned on him. There was poison in that cup.

They tried to kill me. They tried to kill me. The only time Summer had acted like that was when my life was in danger. The Queen wants me dead. For a moment, he understood why. Everything came flooding back to him like a terrifying nightmare. The tower, the moans, the man and woman laughing, the hand… He was a lone wolf in the lions' den, and there was no escape.


End file.
